Clocks
by Jynx'sbox
Summary: Repost. The lines between dreams and reality have always been rather difficult to find when sleeping.
1. Two Week Morphine Drip

Clocks

White Sheets and a Two Week Morphine Drip

"How's your arm, Mr. Vargas?" Mr. Icadin motioned to his left side, to the arm wrapped in thick white gauze. Both of his wrists were secured behind him but Edgar could honestly say he didn't feel anything below his elbows. He was in Mr. Icadin's office for the second time this week as part of their three year schedule. This man wasn't a doctor, or at least no one addressed him as such, but he saw him regularly and the man had complete access to his file.

"I can't feel anything, and given the extensive damage to it I would assume that to be a good thing." Mr. Icadin nodded and took some notes while Edgar looked around the room in a slight daze. Finally, sometime later, the sick man's consult looked up and began their session.

"We'll begin with our normal cocktail, to help you relax and clear your mind." He said half jokingly as he nodded to a male nurse a few feet behind his patient's chair. The man's shoes lightly thumped the floor as he came forward and with every step Edgar's heart rate increased though he wasn't sure why.

A hand pushed on his head, tilting it to his right. His eyes stayed tuned into Mr. Icadin even through the familiar sting of that tiny needle being pulled out. Later, when they would take him back to his room Edgar would count those tiny red marks in the tiny bathroom they afforded him with the tiny unbreakable mirror, plastic sink, toilet, and tiny shower stall that had no door.

They gave him what room they could but he was sure they could have given more if they really cared for the mental health of their patients. Cabin Fever was a common ailment in the hospital.

When the nurse he couldn't see finally let go of him, his he slowly righted himself and relaxed. This really was the easiest part, just letting it happen. It was quick, painless, and they treated him better for it afterwards.

"Mr. Vargas? Can you hear me?" Numb was the closest he could describe it. Numb in some parts but hyperaware in others. He could almost count the fibers in the ugly Oriental rug Mr. Icadin had strategically placed in the center of the room. Red, blue, purple, green, green . . .

One, two, three . . .

"Mr. Vargas?"

"I can hear you just fine." Edgar finally spoke up.

Eight, nine . . .

"Good, good, now why don't you tell me about these dreams you've been having. Have any of them been about what happened that night? Do you dream about that man?"

"Not yet, no. I'm sorry."

. . . sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . .

"How about the woman? Do you dream of her? Of your father?"

. . . twenty two, twenty three, twenty four . . .

"I don't."

"You haven't had any dreams? At all?" A swish of fabric behind him, a door opening, shoes on the rug there and gone . . .

. . . twenty nine, thirty, thirty one . . .

"Not of them, no. I'm sorry." A soft laugh, or maybe a growl, he couldn't be sure.

"There's no need to apologize."

"I _did_ have another dream. But I didn't dream of them."

. . . thirty four . . . thirty five . . .

The click of a button and a small recorder was placed on the desk between them. The white sheets behind his eyelids were pulled taunt and tight, a movie reel started, the white noise of the tape recorder amplified to an almost deafening volume.

"I was in an elevator."

-

_He leaned back against the wall opposite the silver doors. There were a couple of girls near the buttons, a blonde and redhead in casual jeans and similar black tank tops. They got off on the third floor only just noticing him as they exited and the doors closed. The sound of the cables whirring to start him towards the upper levels and he felt his stomach drop out from under him. Every few seconds he would feel a tremor or jerk in the machine. Four floors later it stopped again._

_The doors opened after a brief stall to the open hallway of the apartment building. Standing on the other side of the rail that overlooked the foyer was a figure leaning out towards nothing but a straight drop down. Edgar stepped off of the elevator but the doors didn't close behind him._

"_What are you doing?" He asked out loud, if they decided to jump now he knew he wouldn't reach them in time._

"_Wondering how long it would take for me to hit the ground."There was a loud snap and whistle, and then very suddenly, before he could fully understand what was going on, he felt a great whoosh of air. The elevator behind him dropped like a stone down the elevator shaft. After a moment, there was a crash followed by the opening of many doors. Finally the cold and dry night air grew silent around them._

"_I have to go up." Edgar said as he turned again to face the figure leaning farther and farther out towards the open air. The person, whoever he was, looked back at him and cracked a grin._

"_Then why'd you get off on this floor?" But before he could respond the person was gone. He ran to the ledge and looked over, over and down at the body sprawled on a bed of concrete and black. His fingers felt numb._

"_Because I knew it wouldn't go any higher."_

-

He could never remember making it to thirty six, the fibers of that ugly rug always blurred. Very slowly he pulled away from the images and the dream faded back into the white sheets fluttering softly in his mind.

"Thank you, Mr. Vargas. You've done very well. We'll continue this in our next session as always." Papers shuffled and suddenly he was being hoisted up and out of the chair. The nurse walked him back to his room, sat him on the edge of his bed and removed the restraints from his hands and ankles. Edgar never saw him leave, his eyes were glued to the fuzzy shadows that seemed to dance in his bathroom. He heard the click of a lock and a low buzz of the security system switching on and then nothing.

This was the part he hated, coming out of whatever they put him under. He was already becoming aware of the fact that he couldn't see very well and that it had been several hours since they'd taken him off of the pain medication. That soothing numbness was sinking into his skin and he could distinctly feel the press of the gauze on his left arm. The ache of it wore on his senses.

An Absent Intersection

Part I

[Dear Diary,

Today I stuffed some dolls full of dead rats I put in the blender.

I'm wondering if maybe, there really is something wrong with me.]

_Don't be silly, Johnny. What could possibly be wrong with you?_ Mr. Fuck piped up, leaning close to where the dolls were scattered about the floor. D-boy elbowed him and the two pigs toppled over, nearly landing in a pile of rat guts.

_Watch it D!_

_Oh, please __excuse__ me you lying sack of shit. Ignore him and know the truth you can feel inside, Johnny. Look at the horrible things you've done and see how fucked up you really are! There are more than just a few screws loose in your head._

'You're tired, aren't you?' Nailbunny called out from where he was mounted on the wall. Johnny glanced over at him, rubbing his eyes as he stared out at the street from the windowsill. 'You usually have something to say when they get like this. How long has it been?'

"I can't remember the last time. Maybe it's been awhile."

_Succumb to the inevitable!_

_You know the world deserves the treatment you afford them. People have made you who you are, they reap what they sow!_

_Excuses and lies! If that were true then there would be shitloads of people like you! You are alone, Johnny. Alone and full of bugs and mistakes, you are!_ D-boy laughed cruelly from where he and Mr. F lay stiffly on the floor. His counterpart seemed to be trying to push him away without actually attracting Nny's attention.

Turning away from the window Jonny sank down to the floor, pushing bloody dolls away from his side and looking towards where the doughboys were fighting. The kitchen was a mess he realized, a mess like his walls _and_ like his head.

'Maybe you should get some rest?'

_Maybe he should,_ D-boy said thoughtfully, _maybe he should rest for a very long time. . ._

_NO! No rest for __**you**__ Johnny, so much to do! We need more people, we are running out of time. You haven't been out in weeks! Go out and find some cub scouts to deface! Rats won't keep our master at bay!_

_That was pretty creepy, the doll thing I mean._ D-boy admitted distastefully.

'Nny?' too long since his last sleep. Too long since he'd closed his eyes. The dreams, he'd do anything to avoid them. Glimpses of places and people who couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't exist in the real that escaped him in his sleep . . .

_NNY!_ And his eyes snapped open. He hadn't even realized they'd been closed. Johnny knew he had to get up before he _did_ succumb to his body's physical need for . . .

_Let the boy rest, Fuck. He needs it, everyone needs it. You're tired, aren't you boy? You feel drained and sick of it all . . ._

_Ignore the bird! He knows nothing of you, of what important things you do._

'Nny?'

-

"_So fuck fear. I have nothing to fear." _

_Klik_

_KKCHNNNK!_

_Blood drained and the smell of it was like the metal filings of all of his knives being worn down to empty hilts. His knives, the machines and chains and devices, they became dilapidated. This one's blood, the essence of his being seemed to speak to him the way the man himself had._

"_Well that did nothing for me."_

-

Cold and quiet, that was how he could describe the house a few days later. He went out, finally to the happiness of Mr. F, and brought back some people he met on his late afternoon stroll. Despite the fact that they filled the quiet with noise everything felt still and the others were careful of when to breach Nny when he was in his moods.

As soon as he brought them he felt regret for it. They made too much noise.

He had slept, Nny was sure of this but for how long he could never tell. Waking up disoriented was the part he hated most. Falling asleep under an open window meant he woke up with a hot ray of sunshine in his face that for a moment had looked like a flash light being waved around in front of him.

Those people also did wonders for the wall. Buckets and buckets of them were cooling downstairs and the fresh coat was moist, the wood that held back whatever it hid greedily sucking it up. Greedy like the people that blood belonged to.

That blood belonged to them. Suddenly Nny's thoughts took a sour turn.

'Nny, there's someone at the door.'

_BAM BAM BAM-!_

This sort of noise, this angry and impatient slamming was what he preferred over the slightly disconcerting cries and begging of house guests. He could say that normally it wouldn't matter but today . . .

_What if I'm not like all those goblin people?_

Little tidbits of that dream kept clicking in and out like pieces replayed from a tape recorder. The more he thought about it, the more it faded out and white noised on him. Johnny just wanted to forget about it, or remember completely, either way.

_You just __**randomly**__ picked __**me**__ out . . ._

Did he? He couldn't be sure. Normally people with reasonably sane conversation skills didn't register on his radar. How could it have been . . ?

_So __**fuck**__ fear._

And then it was gone, he'd been trying too hard again.

_**BAM BAM BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM-!**_

Oh well, back to business. He threw the rag he'd been trying to clean his shorter saw with at the sink full of all his other tools and walked into the hallway.

On his way upstairs D-boy's voice seemed to drift in out of the mourning silence.

_I will agree with Mr. Fuck on one point._

Johnny reached the door that lead to the main floor of his house. His hand paused on the door handle.

"And what's that?"

_**BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMMM!**_

_Your neighbors do seem to have a death wish._

The sound was infinitely louder on the top level. Nny cringed slightly before stalking towards the door and ripping it open. On the threshold of his house was a tiny girl carting a load of boxes in a small red wagon.

"HI! Wanna buy some NINJA STAR CHOCOLATE COOKIES?"

X

_You seem distant these days, Johnny._

"I've been thinking a lot lately, D."

_You did sleep for a long time. Maybe you need to take another break, you function better when you've had a good rest._

"I hate waking up and wondering . . ."

_Wondering what?_

"Huh?"

_What were you going to say?_

"The things I dream, the people I see, do they-?"

_-exist?_

"No, do they mean the things that they say?"

_What kind of things do they tell you?_

"Normal things, average, sane conversations. We talked and I understood what he was saying. I killed a person."

_You kill a lot of people, Johnny._

"Yes, but this was different."

_How? How is killing someone in your dreams different from killing someone in real life?_

"No messy clean up. Heh . . ."

_Ah, I see now._

"But there is."

_What?_

"A mess, he said things, things I can't really recall, things that made me see how messy I am."

_Messes can be cleaned up and you know what you must do to achieve this. For every stain that exists there is a formula to lift it, to erase it. You are right on that point, Johnny, you __**are**__ a mess. There is only one way to clean the slate for you. The stain must release the grip it holds if there is to be hope for that something to be renewed._

"D-boy."

_Yes, Johnny?_

"Did I ever bring a guy with glasses through here?"

_Several of your visitors have worn corrective eyewear, I don't remember particulars._

"Oh."

X

End Chapter One


	2. Unfinished Entry

An Absent Intersection

Part II-The Unfinished Entry

[More and more time passes and I continue to dream. I dream of people walking through walls and asking me where the door is. At least that's what it sounds like they're saying.]

'That little girl, Nny. What happened to her?' Johnny looked up from his notebook and smiled at the memory. His head popped up from where he was lounging on his couch to view the source of the curiosity.

"You can't hear her?" Nailbunny was looking at the small red wagon loitering in the hallway, haphazardly piled with boxes of old cookies.

[Sleep is one of those physical urges I can't avoid. D-boy suggests removing my eyelids, which might sound odd to anyone other than me because I know he's hoping I'll do it and die from blood loss.]

'No. I can't.'

"I can. I hear her from the hallway and downstairs and the front lawn and-!"

'Alright, Nny!' Bunny cut him off, 'I get it.'

[Mr. Fuck suggests looking for these people I see and bringing them here. Fulfilling my dreams or such might make them end. I know I won't find them and Eff says I'm being melodramatic.

I stay awake as long as I can but the longer I wait the harder I fall. I sleep and I dream, each time fighting it harder than the last. Each time I drop faster and faster off of that railing, hitting the ground with greater and greater impact.]

'Get out of the house, you're hungry.'

"I go later, I'm not done yet."

'Why don't you go to the store? Grab yourself a snack or go to that cheap Mexican food place you like so much.'

"I'll head out in the morning, it's too late now."

_I'll tell you what's too __**late!**_ Mr. Fuck called out from where Johnny had stuffed him and D-boy under the coffee table. _**You're**__ too late! Too late to stop where this train wreck of an existence is going, even __**DEATH**__ eludes you! You're so fucked up over a stupid dream you don't even want to leave the house anymore. Who gives a fuck if you killed Jesus or something, it doesn't matter if it didn't actually happen. It's a __**sign**__ Johnny! GO find some priest to maim and mangle, go kidnap a nun and throw her in that pit of nails and broken glass you have downstairs! Just __**do**__ something other than write in that stupid journal!_

_AHAH!_ D-boy kicked Mr. F and a few small bits of Styrofoam debris fluttered out from under the table. _It __**is**__ a sign Johnny. You are not justified in your actions! You spit on the idea of God in your dream, that man was a manifestation of your guilt and a reflection of yourself. Self righteous prick, just like __**you!**__ Maybe NOW you can finally put an end to this dreadfully familiar and self pitying prose you go on and on about! Go through with it. End the play and pull the final curtain!_

The Doughboys struggled for a few minutes after that, Johnny's hand poised mid-stroke above his notebook.

[I'm starting to think that maybe there is something to what they say about . . .]

X

Next Page . . . Next Day . . .

[It gets quiet sometimes, usually around early morning. I won't **delude** myself into thinking that the others actually sleep but whatever they are doing doesn't include me or where I am.

Beautiful people used to fascinate me but their novelty wears fast. Horrify reflection of what they really are inside of their skin, twisted but inviting physically. Pretty people are disgusting when you get to the bottom of them.]

[When they first **get** here, completely unaware of themselves and where they are, they look almost normal. They seem to be the ones I'm only allowed brief glances of, people **immune** to the infection of one's self. Pretty people don't dirty the world with their nastiness or their perverse natures when they sleep. I can't really tell if I actually enjoy the small company I'm favored with during their brief silences or if I hate it when they wake up screaming.]

[Dear Dia, Dear Die-ary,

Today I learned that on the inside I'm pretty fucking ugly.]

_Was it beautiful? As beautiful as her? Did you __**enjoy**__ yourself, Johnny?_ First word of the day, Nny realized. Psycho-Doughboy had called out from across the room, where he and Mr. Fuck had been standing silently before._ Did you see something in yourself that you liked seeing?_

_What you __**do**__ is a beautiful thing. If only you could see your own self worth there would be no need for your sadness, no need for your self-hatred._ Mr. Fuck added. As if on cue, D-boy cut in.

_Do __you__ think, Johnny, that there is any __**real**__ worth to you?_

Nny was laying on his stomach, rereading his previous entries a few pages back. He seemed for the most part to be ignoring the voices that slowly roused from the dark recesses he unknowingly sent them to.

_Do you think that if you vanished today, __anyone__ would notice? _

_But you __**are**__ a person . . ._

_You are nothing but a defect._

_. . . and I can't say I'm fond of that._

Johnny looked up at the woman, Carol or Kristy probably, who was slowly dripping to the floor from the gaping hole in her head and scythe that pinned her by said hole to the wall. She wasn't such a pretty person anymore.

"I think I'll go out today." As he said this Johnny stood and walked over to the not so attractive woman in his straight jacket. Her black glitter mascara was drying in long tear stain tracks on her face, gold dust mixing with the red dripping from her mouth. His hands reached out and grabbed the handle of the scythe and quickly jerking it out of her head, he watched in satisfaction as she dropped to the floor with a dull thud. A marionette without her strings.

He didn't think of Edgar when those words came to mind again, or at least he tried not to. A flash of that man's rueful smile and his polite introduction and then the memory was gone

_Make use of her Johnny, take her downstairs and use the only __**part**__ of her that has any worth. Drain her and feed the wall. Go before the blood clots or drains on your living room floor._

"No!" Nny kicked at the limp and heavy body, "You can't tell me what to do you self serving piece of shit!" She was what Mr. Fuck wanted, was everything he should worship and adore. Seeing her was disturbing and wrong. Carmen, or Kayla, reminded him that he was a defect, that something was wrong with him because his selfishness was different from her own, his impulses, his needs were not like hers or anyone else's. She showed him that some aspect of humanity had been taken from him.

The door slammed behind him, effectively cutting off whatever Mr. Fuck had to say about the woman, whatever her name was, still strapped in his straight jacket.

_But __**you're**__ a person._

Unnecessary restraints that really didn't serve a purpose.

_Why don't you kill __**yourself**__?_

Johnny stomped over to his car, realizing as he wretched open the door that he had left his keys inside.

"Fuck!" he screamed, alerting all dogs within a ten block radius and sending them into their own howling rage. He leaned his head against the car door and debated going back in to get them. Inside he was sure that the Doughboys were laughing at him and a sense of unease came over Johnny, he wanted to get away now not later.

The sun was still below the horizon but the morning was cool and a little dark, and the word comfortable came to mind. He didn't mind going out during the day but the summers got so hot that being out between twelve and eight pm was torture without his car.

"We could walk."

Johnny jerked back from the door, seeing someone he shouldn't have sitting in the passenger seat for a split second. A few feet away he couldn't actually see anyone inside, despite the fact that he was sure they'd been there only a moment ago. Curiosity called him back and he leaned into the car, still seeing nothing inside.

"Shit, now I'm seeing you outside of the fucking house." He crawled in on his knees, looking in the back and even going as far to check under the seats and in the glove compartment. He sat on the driver's side for a moment, his knees pulled up close to his chest, looking around to see if someone was going to jump out of one of the nonexistent bushes in front of his house. He stayed there long enough for the sky to brighten a little and for the temperature to rise a few degrees. Nny knew that if he was going to get back before it got too hot he would need to leave soon.

He groaned as he stepped out of the car and shut the door. There wasn't anyone out that he could see and it wasn't cold enough for him to need a jacket.

[I think it's sad that bunny has to remind me to eat, and yet every time he does I almost despise him for it. As soon as he tells me about my hunger it gnaws at my insides until I finally give in.]

Times like this, when everyone was still inside, when the people around him had yet to find justification for any sort of existence outside of their own little breeder's dens everything was quiet and nice. Walking in the mornings made it hard to be angry or confused.

No thinking, no voices, no Nail Bunny, just quiet and empty thoughts of nothing.

_. . . you could have taken someone more __**deserving**__._

_I just wanted to get back home._

And then a nagging thought as he passed the first mom and pop store on his way downtown, towards his favorite fast food eatery. Deserving, the guy said that there were more **deserving** people.

_Self righteous prick, just like __**you**__!_

What did that mean? Even with his limited understanding of how good people operate he was sure that decent people didn't condemn others the way Edgar Vargas had.

_You can __**let me go**__, and I . . ._

And I . . . And I what? What would he have done? Johnny could remember interrupting before Vargas had been able to finish and now that the dream was done and in the past he really wanted to know what the other man had wanted to say.

_NO! NO! NO! Stop it!! Just shut up!! I have no choice! Save your noise for later!_

He couldn't really ever remember enjoying someone's company or even their conversation skills. No noise in the background once they'd started talking, no laughter or screaming, nothing outside of Edgar's voice.

_I see._

It made him hate sleep even more, these little snippets of a person he might have liked to know. But there was no way someone so close to Johnny in idea could exist. There was no way that this Edgar Vargas could be more than some twisted image Nny had created in a fit of loneliness, a friend who in some way could connect with him.

He had no choice, even when being handed someone like that he realized he would never be able to keep them. To keep him. It always ended the same, it always ended with someone dying. When his friends came over he killed them, when little Girl Scouts came bearing cookies he tore them limb from limb and buried them in various parts of his property. When he talked with people who did and didn't scream he strapped them in death machines.

"Hey."

That voice again, for a split second he was sure that the hand on his elbow was bleeding and that the person it was attached to was just as red. He released a sigh of relief that only _just_ curbed his anger when he realized it was only a man in a brightly colored apron trying to hand him a flyer.

"We're going to be having a sale at the book store next week. Feel free to come . . ." but Johnny had already started walking away. The guy watched him slowly walk away, "Okay, never mind."

X

[I saw someone today, someone I probably shouldn't be seeing at all. Fragmented pieces of a person who could be dead . . . my days are disrupted by a man with bleeding skin and listless eyes. No matter where I go I see passing glimpses of him, he talks to me but I can't always understand what he is saying.]

Johnny rubbed at his itching eyes, blinking sleep away with rapid movements. Sitting against the soft and worn fabric of his couch wasn't helping to curb his fatigue.

[I never know when he's going to show up, and when he does appear it's always a surprise because I'm so sure I'll never see the fucker again.]

"_Shame, such a shame_

_Think I kinda lost myself again . . ."_

His body buckled as he hit the floor. Neither of the Doughboys made any comments as he slowly pulled himself up and onto his couch. He'd heard singing, a woman with a taunting sort of tone. He could hear the creaking of steps and the sound of metal scraping wood.

It was so much more comfortable on the cushions. A woman singing, there had been a woman who was in his basement? No, she was in his dream, singing at him, taunting him. Had he known her? She'd just appeared out of nowhere and . . . and this was so much better than the floor . . .

"_Day, yesterday_

_Really should be leaving but I stay."_

_It was a desert, all around him . . . empty squares of dirt and dying grass. Johnny was standing in the middle of a road to nowhere and the desolate neighborhood that it skewered was plotted with yards that housed empty walls built with invisible brickwork. He looked at the barren wasteland, fascinated by what he couldn't see._

_Edgar walked past him, his arms crossed over his chest and stared hard at one particular plot of land. The dark grey hoodie he wore looked far too warm for a place that distorted the road with its scorching sun in watery waves. It was at that moment that Johnny realized he couldn't feel the heat at all._

"_This is where I used to live." The other's voice wasn't unfamiliar but hearing it still startled him out of observing the strange place he'd fallen into. Edgar continued, "Me and my dad, after my mom left, we handled things on our own." He looked over at Johnny and gave him a bitter half-grin. "We did okay for ourselves."_

"_How did he die?" Because that's where it was leading to. That's where it always led to._

"_We got robbed one morning. I was thirteen."_

"_Oh."_

"_Yeah."_

_Anti-climatic, Johnny watched as Edgar turned to face him fully and pointed across the street._

"_The couple who robbed us, they lived right there." Johnny looked over at another empty plot of empty land and sneered._

"_In that shit hole? What dumbasses, robbing their own neighbors." The other man's laugh was surprised and short._

"_I used to think they had the nicest house on the block."_

[Fucking asswipe, dragging me into his delusional drama! I don't fucking need this shit! I don't need this Vargas fucker telling me about his fucking family or his fucking problems! Damn hallucinations and their shitty lives!]

_**Now, now, what's gotten your panties twisted in a bunch like that? Did you have another one of your homosexual wet dreams again? Awwwww, Nny it's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sure you're just going through a phase right now.**_

_**AHahahahahahahahahahahhhhahahahhaaa! What a jack ass! You fucking fell on your ass! That's what you get for calling me a self serving piece of shit! Hahahahahahahahhhahahahahhhahahaaa!**_

"Nny?" That damn voice again . . . Nny covered his ears with his hands, hoping if he ignored Edgar's calm words they would go away. "Are you okay?"

"I don't need this shit! Get the fuck out of my house!"

'Nny!' Nailbunny's voice joined the chaotic symphony.

_**Shut the hell up Eff! Your laughter is grating.**_

_**-ahahahhhahah! Haha hah hahahahah-!**_

'It's just me Nny! No one is here but us. Just me, you and the doughboys.'

The noise it swelled and exploded behind his eyelids. There was a faint crackling and then nothing.

'Nny? Nny! Johnny, can you hear me?'

_**Oh, stop being such a drama queen. I was just joking with you!**_

_**-ahah ahah . . . pant pant . . . BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA-!**_

[The white behind my eyes is so blinding sometimes . . . I want to fall into clean white sheets and dream of nothing. I want to hear silence when I'm alone and see people when I'm surrounded by shit. I know that there are decent human beings out there somewhere and as sure as want to find them, I'm also afraid of going on a search and finding no one.]

X

End Chapter Two


	3. Brain Dissolve

"_Suppose you were to die tonight, what would you say . . ?"_

Clocks

Brain Dissolve and a Ticking Time Bomb

"Mr. Vargas."

_Mrs. Crepe, his most recent guardian, waving to him sadly as they cart him back to the hospital . . ._

"Edgar."

_His first friend outside of the confines of white washed walls and therapy sessions, lying in a broken heap. Edgar's own hands folded uncomfortably under his body. Dead weight on his back, blood leaking into his right eye, a sharp and piercing pain in his left hip. Being unable to move, being unable to help. The others were laughing, yelling, shrieking into the cold night air. One of the boys aimed a kick at his friend's stomach and Edgar winced at the crunch of gravel as he went skidding across the ground . . ._

"You can't sleep on the floor, Edgar, get up."

'_Get up!'_

'_Fucking losers.'_

_Edgar watching as his friend's body when abruptly still. They poked at him a few times before one of the girls, still laughing, turned the heavy body onto its back. Her screams echoing and then chaos . . ._

'_Oh fuck!'_

'_We fucking killed him!'_

'_What are we gonna do? I'm not going to prison.'_

_He could hear running feet, engines roaring to life, skidding tires on rough asphalt and then sweet silence. Quiet, echoing, painful, agonizing silence._

_Those eyes, staring dully at the sky . . . like marble or glass cracked from the head of a doll and Edgar's heart racing as the longest night of his life went on and on . . ._

Bright lights, shining harshly in his face, waving back and forth. He was impersonating his friend, body going still, final breath leaving his lungs . . . didn't they understand? Edgar knew he needed to do this, for him, the only one who didn't think he was messed up. He wanted to let him know he remembered, Edgar wouldn't let the hospital make him forget. He stared quietly at the ceiling and prayed to God that he was in a better place.

Air was being forced into him, his head was screaming and a nurse called for help. Little flashes of white and with the prick of a needle he was spiraling into black, white sheets parting to plunge him into unconsciousness.

"Let's get him on the bed. We'll find out what happened when he wakes up."

_The dream again, that very same one. Always coming back to him, always repeating._

"_I need a little love to ease the pain . . . I need a little love to ease the pain. It's easy to remember when it came . . ."_

_He'd heard a strange booming sound and when he ran out of his room and looked over the stair railing he saw his father on the ground and a his killer lowering a gun to her side. She looked up at the sound of him, curly brown hair falling in a stringy, greasy mop around her smiling face._

"_Cause it feels like I've been . . ."_

_She grabbed one of their fire pokers in her left hand and examined it, her crackly voice echoing loudly in Edgar's ears. She looked up at him with a smile._

"_I've been here before."_

_She was climbing the stairs, her familiar face filling his vision. His father's killer was all he could see, her voice, the sound of the cold cast iron rod scraping the wooden railing of their staircase as she came closer and closer. The gun was still in her hand and the smile still stretched across her mouth._

"_You are not my savoir but I still don't go . . ." she trailed off, her own eyes glued to something over his shoulder. _

Mr. Icadin looked at his patient's left wrist and winced, the thick strap was rubbing so hard at his old scars that blood was leaking through the gauze. He called a nurse over and she started to prepare new bandages.

"What did you dream about Edgar?" But the other man just stared at his lap, brows furrowed in concentration. He smiled at the elderly nurse who held up new wrappings for the Edgar's counselor to see. He nodded and she undid the restraint on his left wrist. As she was fixing him up, Mr. Icadin prepared another mild sedative to give to Edgar in a few hours, once the drugs they'd given him earlier had left his system entirely.

Icadin didn't seem offended or irritated when his patient remained silent, instead he patted Edgar's shoulder and nodded for everyone to leave the room. The nurse secured his left arm before she left and he was once again alone in his tiny cell to remember every laugh, every smile, every stupid joke, and every quiet conversation.

Hours upon hours later he was screaming, his left arm was throbbing and he could distinctly feel the slamming of boots and sneakers into his side. He remembered every second that one of those boys had sat on his back, pressing him into gravel and bits of glass as they beat his friend until he stopped fighting back, until he stopped struggling, and until he stopped breathing.

A Roof with No Walls

The Basement

[The white behind my eyes is so blinding sometimes . . . I want to fall into clean white sheets and dream of nothing. I want to hear silence when I'm alone and see people when I'm surrounded by shit. I know that there are decent human beings out there somewhere and as sure as I want to find them, I'm also positive I'm afraid of going on a search and finding no one.]

_[If the world worked that way Johnny, nothing would get done and no one would do anything. Everyone would be suspended in a state of fear. I'm afraid to do this and I'm afraid to do that.]_

[The disappointment isn't worth it.]

_[And if you aren't disappointed?]_

[I'm always disappointed.]

_[That's so pessimistic of you.]_

They are in the basement again, except this time there is no death machine. Edgar is shackled to an old wooden chair suspended high above the draining grate by chains that disappear into a circular crater in the ceiling above him. He is not moving or speaking but Johnny and his voice can be heard echoing through the room.

[Pessimism is a concept for people.]

_[I think we discussed this once before.]_

The chair leans forward slightly as it rocks back and forth in a nonexistent breeze. Edgar's eyes are closed and in the dark distance above him loud echoing creaks and shifts can be heard, like the footsteps of an approaching metal monster.

[People?]

_[You being a person.]_

[I know I'm a person, but something about me is different.]

_[Now you sound conceited.]_

There is a loud metal **CLANG** above him and the chain drops the chair a few feet, jerking Edgar awake when it stops again. He is still high above the floor. His glasses clatter to the floor.

[Vanity is a concept for people who enjoy being who they are.]

He looks up, craning his neck to follow the chains that keep the chair suspended. Another sound below him, long tentacles twisting through the draining grate and reaching for him. The moose growls at the teasing display of food above it. Edgar's eyes go wide as it reaches higher and higher up.

_[And self-loathing isn't?]_

[It's a contradiction. People who like themselves can't hate themselves as well.]

_[No one is satisfied with who they are.]_

One of the slimy appendages wraps around the foot of his chair and tugs, when nothing happens it reaches higher. It grabs at some of the weaker chains and tugs on those instead. Edgar hears the links snapping and crinkling under pressure.

[Why are you here again? Haven't we been through this? I thought you were dead.]

_[It's called many different things; self-improvement, selfishness . . . I think you referred to it as greed.]_

[Humanity is a race of greedy, selfish things.]

More and more of the moose reaching out as far as it can, pulling the chair with all its might. It is hungry, it wants humanity, it needs to be fed. Edgar looks up again at the sound of another metal clang above him. One of the smaller chains breaks apart and fall into the depths below him with the moose. The chain drops him another few feet and more of the monster reaches out to keep what it has gained. A whirring noise starts above him and the chair shakes.

_[It's how we survive as a race, isn't it?]_

A thicker chain breaks and crashes through the draining grate, the chair falls but not Edgar. The main hold is wrapped around his waist and arms. He is pulled through the air and into the crater in the ceiling of the room. The Whirring turns into grinding, bones and flesh become a messy and thick soup that falls in a torrent through the hole. Almost the entire floor of the room is saturated with Edgar's blood. A majority of him falls right down to the now wide opening of the draining grate.

The moose is retreating slowly, its arms still splayed out about the room lazily waving in as much of its most recent meal into its hiding place. One of the tentacles brushes Edgar's broken glasses, dragging them in with the rest of him, along the floor. For now it is satisfied.

[If by surviving you mean killing ourselves, each other, making more people than we can care for and destroying anything that may one day prove useful then yes, I suppose it is.]

Johnny woke up to see Edgar sitting a few feet away from him, clutching his knees with his back against the wall. When he turned over and his eyes briefly cleared the other man was still there, staring at Nny's boots and not making a sound.

"Get out of my house."

But Edgar didn't reply, didn't say a word even as Johnny fell asleep again. He dreamed that he woke up six more times to see the other man sitting in the same place, in the same position with his arms wrapped around his legs and a blank stare in his eyes.

"Get out of my house, now." He said right before he drifted off completely. Just as the oppressive fog of sleep settled over him he saw his friend's figure stand and melt into the walls of his home. When his eyes opened not even a second later Edgar was gone. He tried harder this time to stay conscious.

"_**Oh goody, you're awake."**_

Johnny looked around, eyes scanning the walls for more signs of his unwanted house guest. As he forced his body up things began to resurface from the silence that seemed to drift over him.

"Where's Mr. Fuck?"

"_**Obviously not up here."**_

"And Nailbunny?"

"_**Followed him downstairs, I dare say that little rodent gets rather nosey every time you decide to pass out on us. Asks a lot of questions."**_

D-boy was leaning against the wall near the door that lead downstairs. Johnny stood and looked at him from the other side of the couch. The house was shifting . . . it felt like . . . moving in odd ways against the air that he was breathing. He walked around the couch with the intention of going downstairs to see what they were up to.

What if I'm not like all those **goblin** people?

The words again.

"I'm not like _them._"

This time they were coming from the very door he was reaching for. His hand was outstretched, the barest tips of his fingers brushing the metal knob when he heard the beginnings of a conversation in voices he half recognized. Edgar's drifted through the softest and the voice he didn't know was the loudest, as if the other person in there had his back pressed up against the door.

Johnny went abruptly still, looking down at D-boy as if the painted pig was on the inside of some joke Eff was playing but in true odd fashion he was silent and frozen beside him.

"These things I see in my dreams, this man, I had never seen him before the first one. There was no sense of familiarity at all. I don't know who he is." Edgar's voice was hoarse and weak.

"You must have seen him before, Edgar. All delusions that take the form of people are derived from the things we see in everyday life. Perhaps you are the one who created him but his appearance is not entirely your doing. You've seen this person before, I promise you. Whether it was back with Mrs. Crepe or maybe a visitor in the hospital itself but either way I am positive that you have created this Johnny person from things you've been exposed to your entire life. And as for his insanity, well you've been exposed to a wide variety of disorders while here."

"I know he's not a delusion. And I know I'm not sick like that" There was a brief pause, Edgar sighed just as Nny was about to open the door, "I've never made stuff up before, you know that. You've known that for years, why would it start now?"

"Because you **are** sick, Edgar. That's why you've _been_ _here_ for years, you're ill."

"How could I make this stuff up, where could I have gotten all of these conversations?" The other man remained silent and Edgar continued on, "All of my dreams have had a sense of the surreal but the most recent one, I could feel the pull of the chains against my skin, I could smell the metal and I could hear his voice."

"You had a nightmare, it's perfectly natural to have a nightmare of someone you're afraid of."

"But I'm not afraid of him." His voice dropped suddenly and Johnny stared at the hand that had pulled on the door handle. Darkness stared back at him and he was unsurprised when he flicked on a light to see no one in the room downstairs. Typical, the voices stop when you open the door.

He didn't find Nailbunny downstairs but he did stumble across Mr. Fuck in the Wall's room leaning precariously opposite the hidden monster. Red tinted the room's walls and floor.

_**The Wall is getting rather dry.**_

Nny walked forward to touch the splinters that dusted the rotting and warped wood. He could feel them digging into the skin of his fingers, burrowing for blood.

_**Leaving it hungry are we?**_

"Sick." He pulled his hand away and stared at the tips of his fingers, "It's sick to paint a wall with the memories of bad people, isn't it?"

_**I'm not sure I understand what you mean . . .**_

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He smoothed down some of the raised grain of the wall with the side of his and leaned in to examine it, "All of the ones brought here are used as a means to an end. I don't offer them anything but they follow me anyways, like they expect something for their time but when I take what I need from them they get indignant. Like I've ruined them or something."

_**It's only natural to want from others, you do the same thing Johnny.**_

"But I'm different."

_**No you're not.**_

He stood away from it suddenly and looked back at Mr. Fuck. The pig stared _almost_ up at him and for a moment there was silence. The Wall grumbled moodily behind Nny.

"I don't think killing people makes me normal."

_**I think it depends on how you define killing. People kill each other every day, sometimes without realizing or caring that they're driving others to commit horrible crimes. You are not the only one to be pushed into hurting people or yourself. I know of some who have killed themselves for far less.**_

"I just want some answers."

_**Who doesn't? Despite what my horrible counterpart claims you are not alone in your search for clarity.**_

"I'm not alone." He stood back and slid down to the floor, hugging his knees and digging his own nails into his arms.

_**No . . . you're not.**_

"They why does feel like I'm the only one here?" He looked up, straight into Mr. Fuck's face. The doughboy was staring at the space of wall above him without expression.

_**Because you want to be left alone. You want the answers to be handed to you on a silver platter. You want and want just like all of the "greedy little ticks" you bring into your home. You are only different in your actions, Johnny.**_

"There's this little space where there should _be_ something. An empty slot that's changing everything I do, everything I think about . . . I am and then I'm not anymore." He fisted his hand in blue-black hair and tugged lightly. "I try to remember but all I get are small pieces of nowhere and people who shouldn't exist. You, D-boy, and Nailbunny in quick sequence." He dropped his hands and leaned back hoping the monster he catered to would just reach out and pull him inside.

_**I don't understand what you mean.**_

"They talk but I can't understand what they say. Gibberish. The more I listen the less I take in." He moved to stand up, "He called me conceited and I let the Moose have him. I was happy when he died again, then I saw him watching me sleep and was relieved he was alive."

_**A new friend, perhaps?**_

"It's a little more complicated than that but basically."

_**That should make things more interesting around here. You should do something about the Wall though.**_

"I have some left over from those kids a few days ago."

_**A few days ago?**_

"Or something, you remember."

_**Of course.**_

"_Wondering if I will ever see you again . . ."_

End Chapter Three


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